


Moonshine

by Sab



Series: Dance Card [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: (Uploaded by Punk), All Love Is Unrequited, Drunkenness, F/F, F/M, POV Outsider, Poker, Smoking on the fire escape, Things You Shouldn't Have Said, Watching the snow fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-01
Updated: 2000-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sab/pseuds/Sab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I like to say she has a mind like the Starship Enterprise." (Uploaded by Punk, from Gossamer.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonshine

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I write, EVERYTHING, wants to be Raymond Carver. Everything, specifically, wants to be one of the last scenes in the movie version of SHORT CUTS, where Julianne Moore and Matthew Modine and Anne Archer and Fred Ward have been up all night getting drunk and fighting in this very sort of urban sardonic way, and then the sun comes up and they have breakfast. Everything wants to be that scene; nothing has ever come close. This piece, while closer, isn't it either.
> 
> Thanks especially to Jodi Armstrong, dlynn, and EPurSeMouve, Exley, and Tara Avery for some spot-on on-the-spot betas, and to Aurora Vere and Sister Phledge for beta-reading this initially, back when I wrote it after "Dance Card" and had to put it down for a while. I owe you everything, Scully. Thanks, all of you.
> 
> Galia - this is for you. Happy Birthday!

"Last night I told a stranger all about you.  
She smiled patiently with disbelief.  
I always knew you would succeed, no matter what you tried.  
And I know you did it all in spite of me."  
~ Morphine, "In Spite of Me"

***

I never intended to get involved. It's just that, sometimes, idle gossip, the devil's work, is easier. Easier than, say, making dinner.

Robin was making dinner, all lamb chop focus in the kitchen and Joni Mitchell on the stereo, "Hejira", "Amelia, it was just a false alarm..." I'd spent all day cleaning, fluffing pillows that wouldn't really fluff, bleaching the sink, alphabetizing paperbacks and tucking the embarrassing titles behind stacks of dictionaries, film-and-video guides, and soapstone elephant bookends. Robin had watched me, faintly amused, as I chased the broom around the livingroom, shoving lint and hair under the couch and chairs, polished ashtrays, replaced all the 100 watt bulbs with 75's, for that "domestic plenitude" glow. Deciding that the room wasn't really going to get any cleaner without a sandblaster and a Swiffer Sweeper, I retired to the kitchen to watch Robin cook.

I slid up behind her, slipped my arm inside her apron, around her waist.

"Hey!" she said, jumping a little, pink-white strips of meat fat slipping off the plastic cutting board. "You scared, Laur?"

"I'm totally scared," I said, kissing her on the neck.

"Stop or I'll cut your arms off," she said, shaking the chef's knife she was wielding. "Or mine."

We had these red-and-darker-red square stools from Ikea; we'd built 'em ourselves, of course, drunk one night to Morphine's "Cure for Pain," and I pulled myself onto one and curled my legs under me, my elbows propped up on the counter behind me, watching Robin's back as she worked. I'd met Robin six months ago at my brother's house on the Island; she was a caterer, a sometime painter, she kept me laughing all night while my mother reminded me Jake was a doctor and his wife was pregnant and I was a waste of space but she loved me, baby, don't worry. Six weeks ago Robin moved in with an easel and a DVD player; a week later my mother sent us a potted fichus with a ribbon around it, with a card with an article about artificial insemination.

"Tell me why she's so scary," Robin said, sliding the squares of meat to the side with the edge of her hand and steadying scallions.

I sighed, felt behind me for my pack of cigarettes and lit one. "She has a mind like the Starship Enterprise," I said, finally.

Robin laughed. "You're so hung up on this 'smart' thing! You say that about everybody," she said. "I remember you describing somebody else that way at that barbecue we went to. Remember, when that really hairy guy wanted you to join Mensa?"

I exhaled through pursed lips; a thin white stream took off for the track lighting. "Nope, that was Dana then too," I said. "I swear. Just her."

"And speaking of hairy guys," Robin went on, "did whatshisface ever bring those books back?"

"Shit, no," I said, remembering. "Thanks for reminding me; I need those for class on Monday."

"And they're my books," Robin said, scallions now in little perfect o's spread out across the butcher block.

I flicked the ash from my cigarette and watched it crumble under its own weight in the ashtray we'd stolen from the MOMA caf. She'd changed the subject, and I didn't really want to change it back, didn't want Robin to know just how much I was dreading this evening, just how much this evening meant to me. Trying to bring it up again would be selfish, somehow, would be manipulative, or arrogant, or cruel. Dana Scully was the last taboo, as far as I was concerned; we didn't talk about her, or my feelings for her, just like we never spoke of Robin's ex-husband Patrick, here in this house. And, oh, I'd been so _good_ at the wedding!

Dana'd come - I hadn't really expected her to come to Paul's wedding, water under the bridge and all that, but she'd come - partner on her arm looking all Teutonic and possessive (him, not her), and she'd bit her lip and gotten trashed and it had been enough for me to just watch her, see her happy, see her free, finally, playing nobody's rules but her own.

I bit my own lip and got trashed myself, just to keep myself from telling her how god-damned beautiful she was.

"You changed the subject," Robin said. "Come peel mushrooms."

She held the bowl of mushrooms out behind her, not even looking, and I took it from her and began peeling them with a paring knife. "Actually, _you_ changed the subject," I said, catching a bit of mushroom between knifeblade and thumb and sliding it across the pudgy mushroom body, where it tapered to a point and plucked itself free. Satisfying business, mushrooms. "Don't worry about it."

Robin turned around, her hands wet. She flicked water at me, and I flinched, smiled. Her crinkly-curly hair was pulled back in a big plastic clip that said "Lay's Potato Chips;" her glasses were sliding down her nose. My beautiful Robin. I bounced a mushroom stem off her forehead. "Tell me," Robin said, feigning anger, through clenched teeth. Her eyes glinted. "Come on. She's a pipe dream anyway; I want to know your pipe dreams."

"Cook," I said, blushing. "I can't tell you if you're watching me like that."

"Like what?" Robin asked, turning obligingly back to her lamb chops.

"Like you're trying to cheat on a math test," I said. "Like, like, like it's some competition between you and Dana, and you want the leg up on your enemy." I was getting frustrated now, bitter, for no good reason. My stomach lurched. Mushrooms. Peeling mushrooms, now.

Robin stopped what she was doing, turned, and crossed to where I was sitting. With one hand she took the mushroom bowl from my lap; with the other she pulled my face to hers and kissed me.

"I am very, very lucky," I said, pushing an errant shock of hair from my eyes.

"Don't you forget it, Laur," she said. "Now, come on. You spend hours on the phone with this woman; you shoo me out of the room when she calls. You spent more on her birthday present last year than you did on your mom's, and don't tell me that's not true because I've seen your credit card bills, babe. You wouldn't even let me come to that wedding with you, and, lemme tell you, a weaker woman would have been significantly more jealous than I. So spill it, love of my life."

Behind Robin the sun was setting over the Hudson; from twenty stories up I could hear helicopters chopping air, heading downtown. I picked up my cigarette from the ashtray and blew on the tip, watching it flare orange and fade to grey. I watched Robin's shoulderblades move for a while before speaking.

"She's just...very...effective," I said, weakly. What a stupid thing to say. "She's amazing. She's a problem-solver. She gets things done. She knows things. She fixes things."

"Can we get her to fix this burner?" Robin asked, shielding her face with her hand as she lit the stove with a match and watched a cloud of flame ignite, then fizzle. "Fuck."

She was making this light, for me; she was making this easier for me, I knew; she was making this into casual talk, kitchen talk. I watched her light the back burner and skilfully skate a pat of butter around in a cast iron skillet. I didn't know what it was, the wedding, or this partner of Dana's, or the fact that she would be here, in my house, she would meet Robin, she would get the chance, finally, to size up my life.

I was always going to be a writer; I said so in college; everyone knew it, as sure as we knew Dana and Paul would be doctors, as sure as we knew Jesse would go into politics. I was going to have a novel published by thirty, short stories in the New Yorker pocked with witty cartoons and billboard ads for orchestral events. In February, like Dana, I'll be 36. I teach 11th grade English at Trinity high school, haven't had so much as a personal ad published, haven't finished a story in years. They sit, half finished, in folders with witty names on my laptop, and I'll open them and reread them periodically, smoke a cigarette, wonder what the hell I was thinking. Not everyone can be Dana Scully.

"You think she won't approve of your life, is that it?" Robin asked, slipping scallions into the sizzling pan.

"Maybe," I said. I looked around at too much Ikea furniture, jelly jars for vases, squat Mexican beer bottles for candlesticks, a stolen ashtray.

"You'll see," I said. "She's very...together."

"And who's this guy she's bringing?"

"He's her FBI partner. His name's Fox, but don't call him that; don't even tell him I told you - I think I'm not supposed to know. He goes by his last name, Mulder."

"Ain't much better than Fox," Robin said. I agreed. "And she's sleeping with him?"

I pelted her with another mushroom stem. "You are definitely _not_ supposed to know that. _I'm_ not supposed to know that. It happened once, I think; she called me the day after, but every time I've brought it up since she's changed the subject and gotten all huffy, so don't say anything. Promise me."

"Oh, no, I thoroughly intend to embarrass you in front of this idol of yours, come on. What do you take me for? You think I'd miss a chance like that?"

I leaped from the stool, grabbed Robin, and threw her against the counter, laughing. "You will say _nothing_ ," I said. "She's got a really weird, sick relationship with this guy; we are _not_ going to fuck it up."

"Sounds like she's not as together as you think she is," Robin said, tickling me. Hey! Hey! Hey!

"Hey, okay, okay!" I said, wriggling free. "They're too busy saving the world to worry about those kinds of animal urges we lay-people spend our time obsessing over!"

"I'll show you lay-person," Robin said, dragging me to the floor.

The doorbell rang. Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm not dressed. They're early. Shit.

I went a little white.

"Want me to get it?" Robin asked, struggling to her feet.

"Yeah," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'll sneak out the back and we'll pretend I'm not here."

Taking a deep breath, I crossed the living room to the front door.

"Laura!" she said, as if it were "congratulations!"

I always forget how short she is.

She stood there, in the doorway, bottle of chianti in hand, at least a head and a half shorter than her partner, probably nearly a head shorter than me.

She was all business, in a suit and stockings and heels so high I thought she'd come catapulting forward and do a nosedive onto the hardwood. Her hair hung across cheeks flushed from the cold, and with what had to be Isotoner gloves she reached out and threw her arms around me, chianti bottle smacking me mid-spine. Here, hugging Dana Scully, was the closest I'd ever come to conservative dress or anything with a designer label; that much I knew.

"Good to see you again," I said to Mulder, over Dana's shoulder.

"Likewise," he said. I let them in and shut the door.

"We're early," Dana said, apologetically.

"Actually, I think we're just slow," I said. "Robin's in the kitchen. Can I...let me..."

I was gesturing sort of awkwardly toward both the kitchen and the living room couch; finally, laughing, I let my arms drop to my sides. "Robin?" God I'm a fool.

Robin entered from the kitchen, greeted Dana and her partner warmly. "Let me put your coats in the closet," she said. Coats. Right. Good place to start. "Now," Robin called from the closet, "can I get you something to drink?" Drink. Right. That's what I meant.

"I got it," I said to Robin. "Go fight fires."

Robin nodded understandingly and trotted back into the kitchen. "Let me know if you need anything," she called back.

"Thanks, Robin," Mulder said. "I'll, uh, I'll have a drink," he said to me. "You're going to join us, right?"

Dana wrapped an arm around my waist and I felt weird and willowy beside her, my chin hitting the top of her head. "Anything we can do to help?" she asked. It was a new "we," for her, a possessive "we," a "we" I don't usually get from Dana, and it resonated.

"Sit sit sit," I said, grabbing the Ikea pseudo-kilim throw blanket from the futon-couch and folding it, badly. "What can I get you?"

"Beer would be great," Mulder said.

"Sounds good to me," Dana said.

I hadn't seen Dana touch a beer since college, but it didn't seem worth commenting on, and I fetched two Negra Modelos from the kitchen and brought them to my guests. My guests. Hm.

Ungracefully excusing myself I retreated to the bedroom and looked for something to wear. I'd been the one who'd encouraged her to sleep with him, after Paul's wedding, probably because I thought she'd never do it.

Jeans? They were wearing suits. Though they'd been working. But still. I threw the jeans on the bed. I encouraged her to sleep with a lot of people; I worried about her, knew she got lonely though she'd never admit it and I barely believed it, strong as she was. She never did it, though, even in college; she never had a one night stand, a whirlwind affair, a night of blind glorious fucking some chick whose last name you don't even know, or some guy. Turtleneck? Jesus, Laura, this is not "Annie Hall." I threw it on the bed too. Mulder was clearly different, evidenced by the fact that she took my advice, and evidenced even more greatly by the fact that she refused to talk about it, now, even to me. I wondered if she discussed it with him, or if she'd just closed it off, pretended it never happened. She was good at that, good at compartmentalizing, good at wielding her strengths and suppressing her weaknesses. Better than I ever was, certainly, but that ain't saying much. I found a three-quarter-length brown brushed-cotton skirt, slit up the side, beaded tassels at the bottom, and a good black v-neck long sleeved t-shirt from the Gap. 'Twill serve, I thought, putting on lipstick and blinking at myself in the mirror. I really needed to get more sleep.

Everything was in the oven, cheese and crackers on the table, and Robin tag-teamed it with me and went off to get dressed, squeezing my hand as she passed. "It's going to be fine," she whispered.

When she came back, Mulder was telling me about the case and I was nodding, pretending to understand as I watched Dana nursing her beer, in turn watching Mulder with something like suspicion. There was an awkwardness between them, a tension I hadn't noticed at the wedding probably because Dana had been so hung up on Paul, but now, seeing them together, it was apparent. They were seated a safe distance apart on the futon, legs crossed away from each other, a palpable and invisible wall between them. I sipped my beer.

"So what brings you to New York?" Robin asked Dana, sitting herself down on the arm of the chair I was in. I spread my hand against her back, drawing warmth. She was wearing the sweater I'd bought her, and I knew she'd done it for me, like Bill and Monica and that ridiculous tie; I knew she was telling me "I'm here for you," and I loved her for it.

"We're finishing up a case," Dana said, gesturing to Mulder who'd just finished the same story when I'd asked it, thought there's no way Robin could have known that. "We had to check some evidence with the New York field office, and Laura invited us to dinner; I hope we're not putting you out at all."

"Any friend of Laura's..." Robin said, squeezing my shoulder. She reached down for my beer; I handed it to her, and she drank from it and handed it back.

"She's told me great things about you," Dana said, safely, slowly, scanning my face to see if she'd made a mistake somewhere. I winked. It's okay.

"Likewise!" Robin said, almost too effusively. "It's great to finally meet the woman behind the messages on our answering machine."

Dinner was ready and we ate at the coffee table after I'd apologized ten or fifteen times for the lack of a diningroom. "Rent control," I said, smiling.

"Trust me, I understand," Mulder said, nodding approvingly at Robin as he ate the dinner she'd made. "Up until about a year ago I didn't have a bed."

"Yeah, but whose fault was that, Mulder?" Dana asked. "This is really good, Robin."

Small talk for the rest of dinner and I plyed Mulder and Dana with cocktails before joining Robin in the kitchen to do the dishes.

"So?" I asked, scraping plates into the trash.

"Dinner was a hit," Robin said, smiling.

"So...!" I elbowed her, hard. "What do you think?"

Robin sighed, met my eye. "I don't know what to tell you, Laur. I think they're fine. I think he's sort of fascinating; he's clearly got a lot of issues but he's also obviously madly in love with her, right?"

"That's my suspicion," I nodded. "And?"

"And I think she's got a lot of issues too," Robin said, conclusively, turning her attention to the sink.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said. "She strikes me as a little cold, you know? Reticent, kind of closed-off, kind of Puritanic, maybe? She's not the sort of person I figured you'd be friends with in college."

"She's a genius!" I said, maybe too defensively, and hopefully not too loudly. I lowered my voice. "She's just shy."

"Shy I didn't get," Robin said. "I wouldn't have said shy. Cold; not really interested in making any new friends, that sort of thing. Not shy, per se."

"She's a little insular," I agreed. "She's very independent, if that's what you mean. He sort of gives me the creeps, actually. Did you notice how she always says 'we' when she talks about their work, and he always says 'I'?"

"I did notice. I thought it was kind of cute, kind of protective of him, or modest, or something, like he doesn't want her to have to take the blame. It just sounds like she's tagging along," Robin shrugged, handed me the colander to dry.

"Dana Scully does not tag along," I said, drying. "You know when the shit hits the fan she's gotta be the one bailing him out."

Robin handed me two plates, which, slippery, I juggled for a moment and began drying. "I don't know anything," she said. "How the hell do we know what it's like to work for the FBI? I think it's kind of cool, though. Very 'Silence of the Lambs.' Do you think they get to deal with, like, serial killers?"

I started shelving dishes. "I don't know," I said. "From what Dana tells me it's a lot of paperwork, some sort of files. X-Files. I don't know what they do with them, though. Maybe analyze them?"

"Hm," Robin said. "Makes you wonder why she didn't become a doctor."

"She is a doctor," I said. "She's a forensic pathologist; I think she still works for the FBI doing it. What the hell do I know?"

"Go play with your friends," Robin said, slipping the last dripping dish into the rack. "I'll bring out the hard stuff, and coffee if they're wimps."

They weren't wimps, and we were a third of the way through a third of Jack when Dana excused herself for the restroom.

"Hey, look," Mulder said, pointing at the narrow slit of window above the door to the fire escape. "It's snowing."

It was, in fact. First snow of the season, that false promise in New York that it will stay white and virginal all winter, all of us forgetting that it turns grey here before it even reaches the ground. We were 21 stories up, and, from here, the snow was everything Charles Dickens ever asked for; a Peter Hoeg wet dream.

"I think I'm going to let myself out onto the fire escape and enjoy it; is that okay?" Mulder asked, already looking for his coat. Telling him I'd join him, I extracted his coat and mine from the closet, wrapped a ridiculously long hunter green scarf three or four times around my neck.

"You coming, Rob?" I asked. Robin had her shoes off; she was staring at the candles burning, dripping wax down the sides of the beer-bottle candleholders.

"Not budging an inch," she said.

I let Mulder out onto the fire escape and followed him into the snap of winter, white-wet iron of the fire escape slippery underfoot. Mulder had had more than a little to drink; he slipped a bit and I gave him an elbow to steady himself, and leaned against the metal railing, staring down at Riverside Park, and the highway, and the river after that, barges lit up like it was Christmas, the GW bridge shone in crystal clarity, arched out two miles uptown. I lit a cigarette, tossed the match off the railing and watched it flutter earthbound with the snow.

"You having a good time?" I asked.

Mulder rubbed his bare palms together and stared up at the snow coming down. "Yeah, thank you," he said. "Are you?"

Hadn't expected that. "Yeah. I'm glad you guys came. I wanted the chance to get to know you, and I really didn't get it at the wedding."

"You know Scully pretty well," he said, still staring at the fat white flakes descending from the heavens or at least the 27th floor. It wasn't a question.

"I used to know her really well," I said. "These days I'm betting no one knows her better than you do."

"I was hoping that wasn't the answer," Mulder said. "I, uh, I wanted to think the truth was out there."

"Very poetic."

"I didn't really want to know she was an enigma to everyone else, too, you know?" Mulder said.

Something like a pang of guilt hit and I stood on my toes and peered inside through the window. Should we be talking about her like this? Dana had returned; she had made herself comfortable on the couch and was talking animatedly with Robin; laughing. It was like watching the snow fall, out here - it's so fucking beautiful you want to be a part of it, but as soon as you touch it it's ruined, spoiled, it's not the beautiful thing it was, trotting merrily along without you. I smiled to myself at the two of them; Robin was refilling Dana's drink and Dana was waving a hand, declining unsuccessfully and not very determinedly. The snow was fat and irregular and beautiful out here, and 21 stories up it's a long, long, long way down.

I turned back to Mulder. "You're probably as jealous of me as I am of you," I said, unable to believe the words had even come out.

"I'm jealous of anyone who thinks they understand her," Mulder sighed. "Wanna translate? I'll pay you eight bucks."

"Eight bucks?" I laughed. "I wouldn't do it for less than a ten spot."

"How about eight bucks an hour?" Mulder continued. "Beats waiting tables."

"I'll bet you've never waited a table a day in your life," I said. I was playing now; this was fun; I flicked my cigarette butt down to the street below - quick regret for littering - and lit another one.

"I have too. I was a waiter for four months during college. I was spectacularly uncoordinated. Plus I stole food."

"This from a government official," I said, raising my eyebrows.

"Don't tell my boss," Mulder said.

He bounced from foot to foot, shoved his hands into his pockets.

"You cold?" I asked, stupidly.

"I love it," he said. "Ten to one it's not snowing in D.C. now. Five hours north makes all the difference."

I licked my lips, then regretted it, feeling them chap almost immediately. I looked up at Mulder. "What's she like, now? What's her life like?"

Mulder blinked, pursing his lips, thinking. "A lot of terrible things have happened," he said, simply. "I wonder all the time what she was like before all of this."

"Yeah," I said. "I was sorry I couldn't make it to Melissa's funeral. I'd only met her a handful of times but she and Dana were so close."

"Yeah," Mulder said. "Not just that. Scully's been through the wringer since she got involved with me."

"And you can't tell me, 'cause they're state secrets," I conjectured, trying to lighten the mood.

"Federal," Mulder nodded, smiling. "I have no idea why she stays."

I locked eyes with him, stabbed at the air with my cigarette. "Well, that's exactly your problem," I said. "Of course none of this makes sense if you look at it that way. How come you never ask why _you_ stay with _her_?"

Mulder looked away. "You don't understand. The X-Files were my assignment. She was asked to work with me on them. She did her tour of duty; there's no reason for her to stick around and get the shit kicked out of her like this."

I exhaled at the moon. "Okay, babe," I said. "All I know about files you can put in the hanging-cabinet-with-drawer I got from Ikea, and what we've got there are bills and takeout menus. How-so-ever," I punched each syllable with a flick of my cigarette, "if you persist on insisting -" I played with the words, "that these cases are yours, and she's just your wacky sidekick, then _I'm_ surprised she stays too. I'm guessing from her perspective she's got just as much invested in this as you do - probably more after what happened to Melissa."

"I lost my sister, too," Mulder said.

I waved a hand at him. "It's not a contest. I'm really sorry to hear that, but come on now."

His eyes widened; I could hear him brewing a rebuttal, unable to process the fact that I'd blown him off that way. I almost couldn't believe it myself, how passionate I'd become about all this. But this was Dana Scully, my golden calf, my false idol, everything I'd never had, everything that this man Mulder could have if he'd just wake up to it and I couldn't believe he would stand here, shuffling and smirking when she was in there waiting and would take him for a song.

I touched him on the arm.

"I'm sorry," I said, gently. "I didn't mean for that to come out like it did. I don't know you from Adam, Agent Mulder, but I do know your partner. And you asked."

"No," he said. "It's okay. You're probably right. I'm probably being really selfish."

"How did she die?" I asked. "Your sister."

"She's, uh, she's not dead. She was abducted. It was a long time ago. I'd rather not talk about it."

By aliens? I wondered, joking, not willing to ask. What a nutcase. Why didn't he just say kidnapped, like a normal person? God, I was callous. Dana had mentioned her parter's fixation on extraterrestrial existence once before and I'd made some crack about it, but maybe he really did believe this shit. Well, whatever made it easier for him to deal with his sister being taken, my god. Poor guy. I didn't know anyone who'd been kidnapped; I didn't know anyone who knew anyone who'd been kidnapped. My god. Poor guy.

"Okay," I said. "I'm really sorry."

"Don't be," Mulder said. "And, you're right, what you said before. I do think of it as my work; I do think of Scully as helping me. Did you know she doesn't even have a desk?"

"Why not?" I asked. Mulder didn't seem to have an answer; he turned his attention back to the snow, which had let up and gotten smaller as the temperature dropped; now only the rare tiny flake dangled in front of us and disappeared like a soap bubble moments later. I huffed on my hands, trying to get the circulation back. "We should go back inside," I said.

"Tell me what she was like before all this," Mulder said.

"She was the smartest person I've ever met," I said. "Still is, though I think I've stopped counting. She used to look everything up; she was obsessed with reference books; she couldn't deal with not knowing anything. Someone would make a passing reference to a dead rock star and the next day she'd know the guy's name, rank and top ten hits. And it all stuck in her head, too. I wouldn't go up against her on a game show, let me tell you."

"Never would," Mulder said.

"I like to say she has a mind like the Starship Enterprise," I continued. "You know, room after room, with an expert in each one, doing their thing, all working together, sort of ignored by the whole animal until they're called upon. You're lucky she's in your corner, Mulder."

"Very," Mulder said. "She, uh, she told you what happened last time we were in New York?"

I looked at the ground, kicked slushy snow for a while. "Yeah, she did," I said.

"Okay," Mulder said. "Did she, uh, say anything about it? Did she say how she felt?"

"You should ask her that," I said.

"I've tried," Mulder sighed.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, stepped across that mental line. "How do _you_ feel about it?" I asked.

Mulder's answer nearly floored me. "Angry," he said. "Used. Teased. Played. Pick an adjective, any adjective."

"I think some of those are verbs," I smiled, touching his arm. He shook me free. "She'll do that," I went on. "Control is very important for her. You have to sort of get past it."

"Why should I?" Mulder asked. "Here I am, I open myself up to her, she knows how I feel about her, and then the next day she acts like nothing happened, like it didn't matter that anything did."

"Well, think about it," I said. "Think about how much she has to lose by admitting that she has a vulnerability. This is Dana Scully we're talking about, queen of the 'I'm fine.' Think about how hard that has to be for her."

"Damn it, Laura," Mulder said, slamming the iron rail of the fire escape with a fist. "You'd think this would make sense, right? You'd think this would be exactly how it would happen, with us, after six years together and some really palpable emotion. At least, _I_ would think so. How can anyone need to be alone as much as she does? How can anyone survive without letting someone get close to them?"

If you'd come to me fifteen years ago and asked me how I felt about Dana Katherine Scully I might have given the exact same reply. I felt my chest tightening, and I took Mulder's hand, getting the feeling he didn't open up like this much and maybe it was the booze but I was going to let it happen. For her. "That's the way she is," I said. "I love her for it; everyone who loves her loves her for it, not in spite of it. I remember one time in college she didn't talk to anyone for a week, not even her boyfriend. She just went to classes and ate alone and went home and took the phone off the hook. Said she was sick of people. It wasn't a fun week for the rest of us, but we got over it."

"But, Jesus, she's an adult now! Doesn't she want something more than this?" Mulder was imploring more to the heavens than he was to me, but I answered anyway, as best I could.

"I don't know," I said. Then, with effort, I went on. "But if she did, Mulder...I think she'd want it from you. Ask her."

Mulder chewed that for a minute. "We should get going," he said. "Scully and I have an early meeting with the field office tomorrow, and then we've got to get back to Washington."

I effused cigarette smoke and snow and nighttime New York, a cloud of it followed me as we went back inside and my glasses fogged. Dana was lying on the couch Cleopatra-style, looking very much at home. The bottle of whiskey was nearly empty and after I'd hung up my coat I poured myself a finger or two and finished it off.

"We should go, Scully," Mulder said, not even taking off his coat.

"You go, Mulder," Scully said, her speech slurred. "Robin said I could stay here on the futon, and I don't really feel like moving."

I threw Robin a look, and she winked back at me.

Mulder turned for the door. "Okay. Thanks for a terrific dinner, Robin. Laura, I'm sure I'll see you again, but it was really nice to get a chance to talk."

I got up from my seat. "You sure you want to go?" I asked him, quietly.

"Scully, you should really come with me," Mulder said, ignoring me. "We have an early meeting tomorrow."

"Fuck 'em," Scully said, uncharacteristically. "Go without me. I don't fucking care." She rolled onto her back, threw her arms up over her head and let them flop there like a rag doll's.

"Scully?" Mulder asked, crossing to her and looking down at her. "Come on." He reached a hand down for hers, tried to pull her to her feet.

Robin glanced at me, and I shrugged.

Scully wrested her hand from Mulder's grasp with more strength than she should have had after all the whiskey she'd put away. "No, Mulder!" she said. "Robin...Robin says I shouldn't follow you around like a three-legged dog anymore, and I think she's right."

I actually gasped aloud, staring at Robin, who had gone white. "Let's clean things," I said to her.

"Absolutely," she said, getting up. We raced to the kitchen.

"You told her that?" I asked, grabbing Robin by the shoulders.

"Not in so many words," Robin said. "She was complaining that Mulder doesn't appreciate her. She said...actually, she said she wished she had a relationship like ours."

That made me blush, despite everything, and I relaxed a little. Robin continued.

"She said he decides what cases they take, where they'll go, what she'll do, who she'll talk to, and she trots along obediently after him. When I asked her why she did, she told me her father used to read to her from 'Moby Dick.' Then I stopped letting her drink."

I met Robin's eyes. "We've created monsters," I said. "I wish my mom were here; she'd see why I shouldn't be responsible for raising children."

Robin laughed, wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on the forehead. "You think they're done?" she whispered.

"Fuck you, Scully!" we heard from the livingroom. Fragile glasses shook. Footsteps, storming off, not out the door but back, toward the bedroom. Which I hadn't cleaned. Shit.

"Casualty repair," I said to Robin. With a nod, she returned to the livingroom; I took off after the footsteps.

Dana was collapsed on my bed, her face buried in the turtleneck I'd thrown there. I picked up a few stray articles of clothing and tossed them in the closet before sitting down.

"Hey baby," I said, stroking her back. She rolled over, wrapped an arm around me and pulled me beside her, clutching me like I was a stuffed animal. She wiped her nose on my shoulder.

"I'm a fucking idiot," she said, snuffling. "Did you know he thinks I used him, last time we were in New York? He thinks I just fucked him because he was there? He thinks I just fucked him because Paul got married and I was jealous."

I didn't know what to say, precisely, so I settled on "okay," after too much deliberation. Dana didn't seem to notice. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, her pink skin pinker from crying, her eyes puffy, her hair spread out like the Lady of Shallott, trailing across the bed.

"I blew it," she said. "Just like I did with Paul."

"Paul's a son of a bitch," I said, just to remind her. "Mulder seems like a good guy."

"What did you guys talk about, out there?" she asked.

"Three guesses," I said.

"Isn't he incredible?" she said. "He's...what is it you used to say? He has a mind like the Starship Enterprise." She swallowed over the lump in her throat, her eyes brightening somewhat.

"I say that about _you_ ," I said, wishing I had tissues, and thinking somehow that handing her a roll of single-ply toilet paper would be uncouth.

"Yeah, but it's true about Mulder," Dana went on. "He just takes off, where no man has gone before, making these leaps in logic that leave me gasping in the dust, and then the dust settles, and of course his instincts were right and we've skipped the ten or twelve unnecessary steps it would have taken me to get there alone."

"Okay," I said again.

"He's never going to trust me again," she said. "That's the only thing we've had in our relationship, even when I was so pissed at him I could spit, I always knew I could trust him, that he would never lie to me, that he would trade his life for mine any minute of the day. And he knew I would. And I would. And I will, but he'll never believe me again, not after what I did."

I played with my bedside Timex Indiglo alarm clock, pushing the broad button and watching it light up blue. She was off-kilter, and that, for lack of better terms, weirded me out. This wasn't the steely, steeled Dana Scully I'd carried around twenty years like a talisman. This was Dana Scully gone emotional, Dana Scully gone weak. This was Dana Scully in love, if my radar was right, strange and empassioned and beautiful. This was military-raised good-Catholic-girl Dana Scully gone poet, ready to split herself open and let herself bleed. So afraid of wrong moves, stepping carefully on chasms as the earth cracked open and threatened to swallow her into the hell the rest of us live every day, open and vulnerable. It was strange for me to counsel her, strange for there to be something I was more familiar with then she was, and I wasn't sure I liked it.

"What did you do that was so bad?" I asked, knowing the answer, obviously, but wanting to hear her say it.

I didn't get the answer I thought I would. "I made love to him," she said. "I used him. I stepped way over the boundaries of friendship and just used him."

I was really hoping she'd forgotten it had been my idea.

"You didn't want to?" I said.

"No!" she said. Then, "I don't know. I don't think of him that way. He's my partner."

I exhaled heavily, looked at the time on the Timex. It was closing on two in the morning, and it didn't look like the night would be wrapping up any time soon. Dana Scully gone deluded terrified me, and I wanted her back, wanted her certain of herself, wanted her guns poised and ready. "Are you sure?" I asked. "Are you sure you don't think of him that way?"

"Of course I'm sure," she said. Then, "I think I'm sure." She rolled over on her side and looked at me. "Plus, everyone treats me like I'm his backup singer, like I should be called a Shirelle or a Chanel or a Supreme to his Diana Ross, or whatever. Whatever. Fuck him."

"Does he?" I asked.

"I don't know why I stay," she said, after a long moment.

Déjà vu. "Maybe you shouldn't look at it like that," I said. "Maybe you should ask yourself why _he_ stays."

"They're his cases," she said. "He doesn't care whether I'm helping him solve them or earning my keep or just sitting there looking pretty. It's only because I make myself do the busywork he 'assigns' me that I haven't atrophied to a bumbling fool by now. He's a jerk."

I didn't have a response to that. I didn't think she meant it, but I didn't have a response to it anyway. She needed to go off, and it was my place, my job to let her wrest herself open and bleed all over the clothes strewn on my bed.

I didn't think she had many female friends, and despite the clanging of my heart against my ribs, torn and wild with this beacon of strength gone limp under my stroking hands, I owed it to her.

And as if she knew her weakness stilled me, she changed the subject.

"How are things with you and Robin?" she asked. "Who, by the way, I like a whole lot."

"Thanks," I said. "Things are really good. It's still pretty recently that she's moved in, so, you know, honeymoon glow and all that. We're having fun."

"Is she, you know, someone you could imagine spending the rest of your life with?" Dana asked.

I thought for a second. "Probably not," I said. "She's not as smart as I am; I think that's going to piss me off in a couple of months."

"Is that really enough to get in the way of a relationship?" Dana asked searchingly.

I laughed. "You tell me, Captain Kirk," I said. "Smart is sexy." I set the clock on the nightstand. "Why do you ask?"

Dana pursed her lips. "Um, well..." she trailed. "I think Robin thinks she is. I mean, she thinks you are. She thinks this is it."

"Hm," I said. "I wondered about that when she moved in here. I mean, she still has an apartment downtown, but we never use it. I wouldn't let her give it up, though. I figured that was kind of a hint."

"Kind of a hint at what?"

Oh. Shit.

Robin was in the doorway, ashen, looking sick. I struggled to my feet.

"Oh, baby," I said, throwing my arms around her. She shook me free.

"You feeling better, Dana?" Robin asked, staring past me.

"Maybe we should be getting out of here," Dana said, "Mulder and I."

She started out the door, but Robin clapped a hand around her arm, hard. "Oh, no, no, the night's just getting warmed up! Stay; we've got slice-and-bake cookies; I'm sure I'm smart enough to make them."

I pounded a fist against my forehead, cursing under my breath. Stupid, stupid, stupid me.

"Plus," Robin continued, "I doubt any one of us wants to be alone with our respective partners right now."

Damn it if she wasn't right.

Stay, Dana. Keep me here steadied with something that was something like sane.

En very awkward masse we made it back to the livingroom; Mulder, seated in the armchair with his head in his hands, looked up and shook his head at Dana. "You feel better?" he asked her, coldly.

"No," she said, just as coldly.

"Everyone sit down," Robin ordered us. We obliged, stared from one to the other like Tallulah Bankhead and the Nazi in "Lifeboat," like those survivors in "Alive," afraid to go to sleep for fear their friends would eat them.

"So," Dana said to me. "How's school?"

I nearly fell off my chair, trying to stifle the laughter. "Good," I said. "I've got some really brilliant students this semester." Oops. Can I have those words back, please?

"We've got box wine, we've got moonshine, and we've got Mickey's 40s left; everything else is gone," Robin said. "Though I'm sure one of Laura's brilliant students would pull a MacGyver here and show us how to distill Stoly from the tap."

"Moonshine?" Mulder asked.

I opened my mouth to answer but Robin beat me to it. "My brother's got a still in his basement; it's kind of a hobby. Stuff tastes like Bactine, but it works."

"Bring it on," Mulder said, reaching out his hand and letting it drop to his lap.

An hour later we were all well-saturated, and no one was speaking to anyone. From my spot, sprawled on the floor, I had decided it was high time to count all the books I owned, and once I'd completed that (310) I counted all of them that started with the letter "A," (a meager 9; I'd decided the article "A", as in "A Farewell to Arms," didn't count) planning to make my way through the alphabet till the jar of moonshine was empty. After "A," though, it became impossible to keep my glasses on without getting a headache, and impossible to see without wearing them. So I just started from one and began counting nothing in particular, wanting to see how far I'd get.

"We can play a game," Robin said, lying on the floor on the other side of the coffee table.

(540.)

"Tackle football?" Mulder asked hopefully.

"Poker," Dana said decisively, her speech slurred.

"Poker's good," I said. "I'll get cards."

I dragged myself across the floor and flipped open the top of a plastic box from Wal-Mart. Keys to something I didn't have or someplace I'd never been, a toy from a Happy Meal, a broken Swiss Army knife, two or three half-melted votives, poker chips and a deck of Bicycles. I slapped the pack and the chips down on the coffee table and looked around the room.

Mulder was smiling, a big, broad, nauseating smile, the kind you see on women right before they say "honey...I think I'm going into labor," or on Ralph Kramden right before he says "to the moon, Alice!" But Mulder didn't say anything, and I let him shuffle and deal.

"Seven card stud, nothing wild," Mulder said. "I ain't no pussy."

I had a pair of jacks and nothing, and I bid low.

"Playing it safe," Robin said, bidding next. "Well, I'm a risk-taker; I'll see your bid and I'll raise you."

I didn't look at her.

Dana folded.

"Quitter," Mulder said. He'd meant it as a joke, and I tried to laugh, to make him feel better but Dana's blue eyes were ice. Mulder matched Robin's bid and won the hand with a full house. "I'm the master," he said.

"You wouldn't have it any other way," Dana muttered.

I poured everyone another round while Dana shuffled and dealt. "Texas Hold 'Em," she said, "Sixes wild."

Face down I had the jack and ace of diamonds, and I matched Mulder's opening bet. Betting went around, and Dana laid out three cards in the kitty: the four of clubs, the ten of diamonds, and the six of clubs.

"Ooh, wild card on the table," I said.

"Yeah, Laura, we're not idiots," Robin said. Jesus. Mulder bid high, but I was inches from the straight flush and I raised him, clicking my tongue.

Robin folded.

"With a wild card on the table?" I asked. "You're guaranteed a pair!"

Dana looked at me. "Laura," she said, warningly, nodding a head toward Robin, who was seething.

"What?" I asked. "This is my house! I can't make a comment about a simple game of cards?" Everyone was against me, now, and I wasn't against anyone and as far as I was concerned I hadn't done anything wrong.

"You go ahead and make comments about anything you want," Mulder said. "I think you've been very hospitable, and at least you're being honest about your feelings."

"That's because she doesn't have any feelings," Robin said. "Drink more." She picked up the jar of moonshine and slammed it down on the table like a gavel.

"Don't mind if I do," Dana said, pouring herself another glass and drawing on it before adding another card to the kitty. Four of hearts; no help for my straight flush but there were three of a kind on the table now and anyone could have that full house. Bidding went around and I folded.

Robin picked up my cards and looked at them before I could grab them away. "You were a card away from the royal flush," she said. "Getting out while the getting's good? You always were a bad loser; you're too afraid to even try because you think it'll make you look stupid, god forbid."

When Dana flipped over the queen of diamonds in the next round I refused to take it as a sign. How could she talk to me that way, Robin? How could she say I was afraid to look stupid?

"Ha!" Robin said. "See? This is why you haven't had a good relationship in five years; you're always afraid to take the risk, but oh ho ho!" she grabbed the queen of diamonds off the table, spreading what had been my hand out on display. "Look what happens! Sometimes it works! But you'll never know that, love of my life, because you're too fucking afraid to let it play out."

"I'm not," Mulder said. He laid down his hand. "I've got four of a kind, and I didn't even need to use the wild card. Give this man a medal."

"How about Fox Mulder, Messiah?" Dana asked. "Is that good enough? Or did you want Fox Mulder, God?"

"That'll do just fine, Agent Scully," Mulder said. "Now, is it just me, or is there an awful lot of estrogen in this room? If you don't mind, I'll sit this next hand out on the fire escape and leave you lovely ladies to your gun club and sewing circle."

He picked up his coat with a flourish from the back of the chair and pushed his way outside, where it was snowing again. I hadn't noticed; usually I notice these things, usually I'm attuned to the weather like it's trying to tell me something, like it dictates my mood, like it's an excuse to feel something, to feel anything, like it's an excuse to express myself with a flip of my scarf or bold in a swimsuit without having to say anything. Did that mean I was callous? Did that mean I was, as Robin said, afraid of taking risks? I didn't want to think so. I was too tired to think so.

I fell backward on the throw rug.

"Well," Dana said to me, "I'd like to thank you for this life-changing evening, Laura. I guess my world did need a little shaking up; it's not like there's anything exciting happening to me at work, and this was just what I needed to kick me out of my rut."

Now Dana Scully was being snide to me? Enterprise Scully, the one woman I'd always counted on to have a cool head in a tough situation? Jesus H. Christ. I want to go home. I pulled myself up, sat crosslegged, palms on the coffee table.

"Look," I said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ruined your night, Dana, but if you're trying to blame me for ruining your relationship with Mulder, it ain't gonna stick. Robin says I'm afraid of commitment, I'm afraid of taking risks, but hello Springfield, I'm a veritable codependent compared to you. Why do you think he's mad at you, Dana? You think it's because he thinks he can't trust his partner? Um, no. It's because he's so fucking in love with you he can't see straight, and you're treating him like some guy you met at D'Agostinos!"

Dana opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off - I was on a roll. "Get the hell out there and tell him how you feel. If you don't feel the same way he does, who the fuck cares, but you owe him the honor of not treating him like he's just some guy you sort of know and who wasn't a bad lay when you needed it. Jesus."

Standing, I pulled Dana to her feet and steered her toward the door. She didn't fight much as I pushed her through it and stood beside her in the cold, chattering.

Mulder watched us, vaguely bemused.

"Talk," I commanded them. I pointed at Mulder. "You. Tell her why she doesn't have a desk. Tell her it's because you're so damned scared of how talented she is that you don't want to risk looking insignificant next to her. Tell her that every time she walks into a room your throat catches and you try and figure out just how you're going to make an ass of yourself this time - and trust me, I've been there. I know. Tell her how every time she walks into a room you get a knot in your stomach just looking at her, all that genius and all that beauty in such a tiny, strong, tiny person. Tell her the reason you say 'I' when you're talking about your cases, instead of 'we,' is because you're protecting her from being blamed for any embarrassing mistakes you make, but it's also because you want to prove to yourself that you're good enough for her, that there are things you can do that make you unique, that make you worth a woman as incredible as Dana Scully."

I was shouting, now; I didn't even feel the cold. Both Mulder and Scully looked like they were going to speak, and I shushed them both with a hand.

"And you!" I said, pointing at Dana. "Tell him you fucked him because for six years you wondered what it would be like to be that close to such a phenomenal human being, to give yourself over to the only person you've ever met powerful enough to master you, to order you around, to treat you like a person, not some affirmative-action woman-in-a-man's world token. Tell him that you've taken this ride with him because his intuition is stronger and better than ten decades of book knowledge, and that no matter how smart you may be you're no match for what he was born with. Tell him that he needs you, and you know he needs you, and you know he knows. Tell him that you haven't had a good relationship in six years because you're waiting for him, you've always been waiting for him, there was no need for anyone else as long as there was him!"

Mulder and Scully looked at one another, and looked back to me. I sighed, laughing. "Do what you gotta do," I said. "Take as long as you want. Keep her warm," I said to Mulder. "And when you're done...everyone get the fuck out of my house. Okay?"

"Okay," Mulder said.

"Okay," Dana said.

 _Now_ it was cold. Nodding at them, I turned and went back inside.

Robin was putting her coat on.

"You wanted everyone out of your house. I'm getting out of your house."

I rushed to her, tried to pull the coat off her shoulders. "Not you," I said. "I didn't mean you."

"I've got to get out of here," she said. "I can't stay here, Laura. Not after what you said."

I took a deep breath. "You were right," I said. "I was afraid. Probably. I don't know. I can't promise anything, but what I do know is that I'm happy with you now, happier than I've been in years. If I stop being happy - or if you do - we can revisit this awful mess, but until then, can't we just be happy we're happy?"

"I can't stay with someone who doesn't respect me," Robin said sullenly, looking for an out, I knew.

"I respect you," I said. "Didn't you hear my earthquaking tirade out there about intuition and book-smarts? Come on."

She handed me her coat. "I'm happy now too," she said. "Maybe I'm an idiot, but I'm happy now too."

"Good," I said. I wrapped my arms around her, feeling the delicious familiar shape of her, cigarette smoke and moonshine, the faint whiff of snow. She raked her hand up the back of my neck, cradled the back of my skull, the short sharp hairs there tingling under her touch.

"Sun's coming up," she said. "Want coffee?"

"Do we have eggs?" I asked.

"We might have one egg," she said. "Maybe two. We've got the eleven hundred mushrooms I had you peel to keep you busy earlier today - did you notice they weren't part of dinner?"

"You just had me do that to keep my mind off Dana?" I asked, impressed.

"Yeah," she smiled. "So I can make a really out of proportion omelet; I'm sure I can scrape up some other ingredients."

Cold whoosh as the door to the fire escape opened and Mulder and Dana came back in, blue from the weather.

"Sun's coming up," Dana said.

"I know," I said.

"We should go," Dana said.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

Dana looked up at Mulder, who took her hand and squeezed it. "We're plateauing," Mulder said. "Everything will be okay. We've been through worse than this, Scully and I."

"I believe it," I said.

"We should really go," Dana said again.

"No," I said, "Robin's making coffee and something with mushrooms and an egg; stay for breakfast."

"We've got a briefing in about two hours," Mulder checked his watch. "Can we shower here?"

"Together, or separately?" I asked, winking.

"Separately," they said together. Together, they said it. I grinned.

I had that sick/triumphant feeling, that not-quite-hungover-yet feeling, that stayed-up-all-night hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, all buzzed and numb and blissful and cold. The snow had stopped, again, but even from here I could see through the kitchen window that the neighboring buildings were covered with a fine layer of snow, giving the morning that quiet minty-pink serenity of grammar-school snowdays, just before everyone else got up, no alarms, no wind, nothing moving through the skeletons of trees and the perfect stillness of not-quite-night, and not-quite-day. This was free time, found time, earned time from a lifetime of hard labor; this morning the world had stopped around us and we'd been blessed with this pocket of physics-defying, snowy, perfection.

"Who wants coffee?" I asked.


End file.
